not so secret now
by Kendarrr
Summary: "You sent me gardenias without hiding behind a boy. You sent them in your own name. Do you know what gardenias stand for?" Rachel receives gardenias from Quinn on opening night and proceeds to interrogate her about them.


Turns out the gardenias Quinn sent in canon was for her Tony or something? In this house, we nitpick canon so ultimately it doesn't matter.

* * *

**3:00 pm - Kurt, Rachel, and Santana's apartment — 5 hours before **_**Funny Girl**_ **opens**

Rachel signs the delivery slip and wraps her arms around yet another bouquet of flowers. Their apartment is littered with them—along with half-eaten edible arrangements, congratulatory cards, and balloons. Rachel has half a mind to throw some of the tackier wreaths away, but this one bouquet in her arms is different. The heady perfume of the gardenias make her head spin from nostalgia, or is it the mortifying ordeal of reprising the role she has been working for her whole life? Who can say?

She lowers the abundant pot of nothing but pure white gardenias onto a clear space on the dining table. Parting the petals, Rachel finds the card to see who sent her the flowers. She scans the note for a name and as soon as she sees the name of the sender, she drops the card as if it burns her. She scrambles to find her phone and rapidly looks for a certain contact, and presses the call button.

"Hello?" comes the familiar voice through the phone. Rachel's heart races in her ribcage. She really shouldn't have had that third cup of espresso today — of all days.

"Quinn, did you know all along?" Rachel throws out her questions with no pause. "How did you know? Did Finn tell you? Or did you guess — because if you did — "

"...know what? What did Finn tell me? What's going on?"

Rachel goes back to pacing the length of the apartment. Grateful that Santana is at work and Kurt is at a coffee shop down the street, doing god knows what. This means she can be at peace and not have to explain herself to anyone — except to the girl on the phone with her. Rachel parks herself on the couch and brings her legs up to her chest.

"I can't believe this. Of course, I never told him not to tell you but I thought it was apparent that it was something to be kept between us — "

"Rachel Berry!" Quinn shouts over the phone, and Rachel stops talking immediately — if only due to some latent terror. That familiar sound and tonality of Quinn's stern voice always had the capacity to shut her up. "What are you talking about?"

"The gardenias!"

"What?"

Rachel jabs her thumb into the end call button and buries her phone under throw pillows. She runs to the bathroom, sprays cold water on her face. She shouldn't have called Quinn. Now, the blonde's voice is the only thing that plays in the jumbled mess that is her mind. How is it fair that the prettiest girl she has ever met also has the most beautiful speaking voice? Not even the distortion over the phone can ruin its effect. Rachel pouts in frustration. She glances at the clock and sighs.

**3:30 pm - Union Station, New Haven — 4.5 hours before **_**Funny Girl**_ **opens**

Quinn scans her Metro North pass and climbs aboard the train. She finds herself a seat by the window, the pounding in her chest provides her head with a dull ache. And the coffee barely helps. In her jacket pocket, her phone blows up with texts from classmates after she sends them a quick, cryptic text that she won't be present in class that night. She also calls in at work — an advertising firm for which she works at the front desk reception — and tells her boss that she has an emergency to deal with in New York.

Before the train leaves, Quinn purchases a newspaper and refills her water bottle. She can already imagine this two-hour train ride to be gruelling with all the questions infiltrating her mind.

What on earth can Rachel possibly mean? What _about_ those gardenias? What _about_ Finn?

Quinn bites her lip as the acidic feeling of trepidation and anxiety worms itself in her gut. She throws her head back against her seat's headrest and groans. Her seat neighbour glances at her but says nothing.

She bought those flowers for a specific reason. Maybe she shouldn't have assumed that Rachel won't know the meaning of the gardenia right off the bat — metaphors are _her_ expertise, after all. Not to mention Rachel is one big sap, a romantic by blood. Of course she would know all about the hidden meaning of flowers.

And, come to think of it, this is her first time using her Metro North pass. It had been tucked away between the pages of her journal since she purchased it, all those months ago. What better reason to use it than out of panic?

Quinn sighs again and buries her face in the _New York Times_. That problem that sent her into a frenzy will be dealt with by the Quinn two hours from now.

**4:10 pm - Train to Grand Central Station from Union Station, New Haven — 2.50 hours before **_**Funny Girl**_ **opens**

Nothing yet from Rachel. No call, no text. Quinn can't tell whether that is a good or a bad thing. Probably neither. Probably both.

**5:45 pm - Grand Central Station — 2.15 hours before **_**Funny Girl**_ **opens**

Quinn has only been in New York City for a grand total of ten minutes and already she has witnessed someone pissing on a stoop, been catcalled, and narrowly avoided someone dumping water out of a second story window.

She ducks into a coffee shop before she hears another bout of whistling and jeering from men in cars. She orders a tea and a roast beef sandwich, sits by the bar to look up the directions to the Marquis Theatre. Once she knows the general direction, she heads out and walks. Avoids puddles with a grace that does not surprise her. Pointedly ignores further catcalling.

She reaches the theatre and finds the ticket booth. Behind the glass screen is a young woman dressed in some kind of bellhop uniform. Gold rope braids decorate the cuffs of her sleeves. Quinn leans against the counter, offers a flirty hello.

Ten minutes later, she secures the last ticket to tonight's opening of _Funny Girl._

**6:30 pm - Backstage, Marquis Theatre — 1.5 hours before **_**Funny Girl**_ **opens**

Rachel paces amidst the racks of costume and props, chewing on her bottom lip and running through lines until the last minute. She knows her cues like the back of her hand so it's not out of necessity — it's more of a nervous tick, at this point.

Upon her vanity, surrounded by the vibrant lights, the bouquet of gardenias. She carried it in the subway with her, what of it? She figures that if she needs luck via token or emblem — which she doesn't — what's better than flowers from an ex-bully-turned-friend-turned…

She can't tell if the frayed nerves are about the fact that tonight is the night she's been working for for the bulk of her young life — or is it about that card she reads, tucked between petals. The sharp, controlled script of the once Head Cheerleader that reads:

_To the shining star among us mortals. This is where you belong. Never forget that. XO, Quinn._

Just markings on a page, that X and that O. Rachel sighs in yearning.

Rachel shakes her head. Wills herself not to think about it just yet. Plenty enough time for later. For now, she forgets Rachel Berry's problems and embodies Fanny Brice.

**7:45 pm - Foyer of the Marquis Theatre — 15 minutes before **_**Funny Girl**_ **opens**

It takes Quinn by surprise that Coach Sylvester is there with Kurt. While Sue harasses the person behind the refreshment bar, the young man dislodges herself from the coach's side to give Quinn a quick hug.

"You should've told us you were coming, Quinn! I would've picked you up from Grand Central."

"This was a spur of the moment for me too," Quinn admits.

"Does Rachel know you're here?" Quinn shakes her head. "Oh my god, I should text her! She'll be so excited!"

Quinn grasps Kurt's wrist when he pulls out his phone to message the diva. "No, I don't want to add to her nerves. She doesn't need to know I'm here; she can see me for herself after the show."

Kurt nods when he sees things Quinn's way. "It's so nice to see you. And I hope you stay for the afterparty."

The usher shows Quinn to her seat — second row, dead centre. She wonders if Rachel will be able to see her face among the crowd. Quinn opens up the playbill. Unable to repress a smile when she sees the words:

_Rachel Barbra Berry_ as _Fanny Brice_

Two gentlemen excuse themselves as they scoot to take the seats beside Quinn. She looks up and sees Rachel's dads, vibrating from nervous and proud energy. She says hi, and Leroy who sits directly to her left, clasps her hands.

"Oh, Quinn, I'm so happy you're here to support our baby girl!" He wipes a tear from his eye. It's likely from him that Rachel gets the flare for the dramatics, that easy summoning of tears to their eyes.

"Does Rachel know you're among the audience, Quinn?" Hiram asks.

Quinn denies it, offering the same excuse she gave to Kurt. To be honest, she thinks, it's likely less for Rachel's nerves and more for _her_ own.

**7:58 pm - Backstage, Marquis Theatre — 2 minutes before **_**Funny Girl**_ **opens**

Rachel breathes in and fills her lungs with stale, backstage air. Summons courage she doesn't have to dig too far deep to find. Takes her position at the wings. No one can dare stop her now.

She closes her eyes. Sees a bouquet of gardenias and Quinn's name in the back of her eyelids. She takes her cue.

_Hello, gorgeous._

**8:00 pm - Marquis Theatre — **_**Funny Girl**_ **opens**

Quinn doesn't realize she's trembling until the music starts and the curtains are drawn.

Doesn't realize she's not really breathing until the first note of the first song leaves Rachel's lips.

"_I've got thirty six expressions. Sweet as pie, and tough as leather…_"

Quinn hasn't seen Rachel since Mr. Schue's wedding, and even then, they barely had a conversation, much to her regret. The way the small brunette prances around on stage, Quinn can't help but feel a lightness in her chest. Here she is — she made it.

Maybe no thanks to Quinn's meddling and all thanks to Rachel's hard work and talent. But Quinn likes to think that being the villain in Rachel's life story is a small consolation, a minuscule sacrifice. For this single-minded girl to get things right, Quinn is willing to be the monster Rachel doesn't know she needs her to be.

Even when it ends in heartbreak. For both of them.

When Rachel sings, "_I'd rather be blue, thinking of you… I'd rather be blue over you, than be happy with somebody else…_" Quinn represses a snort. Story of her life, after all.

**9:40 pm - Inside Marquis Theatre**

During intermission, Quinn excuses herself to the washroom. Refreshes herself, buys an overpriced glass of wine. Her heart has calmed down in her chest somewhat. Instead of begging to be let out, it beats to a jaunty tune against her ribcage, to the tune of _I'd Rather Be Blue_.

Still no text from Rachel. That's good. That means she's focused. And perhaps, Quinn weakly hopes, she's forgotten all about the flowers and whatever it is they may have revealed to her.

**9:50 pm - Backstage, Marquis Theatre**

Rachel hasn't forgotten about the flowers.

She sits in front of her vanity and stares at it. Imagines interrogating the petals as if they have all the answers that Quinn refuses to give.

"Cool bouquet, who's it from?" Her Nicky Arnstein asks while he ties a different cravat around his neck.

"Do you know what gardenias mean in the language of flowers?" Rachel asks rather than answer his question.

"Not really."

Proves her point. Meanings of flowers aren't exactly common knowledge. When people think romance and love, they always think of red roses. And those are the flowers Finn sent her, left in a vase in her nightstand back at the apartment. But this is also Quinn Fabray she's thinking about. Classically-educated, probably took Emily Post lessons. Reads tons of books. Possesses the subtlety and nuance a beautiful girl is meant to have. Rachel pouts and caresses a velvet petal between her fingertips.

"It's from someone I knew in high school," Rachel says, when Nicky remains standing beside her with an inquiring expression.

"An old flame, huh?"

Rachel bites her lip. "I suppose you can say that."

**10:45 pm - Inside Marquis Theatre**

Quinn returns to her seat having drunk two glasses of wine. Her cheeks flushed a pleasant pink after catching up with Kurt and Rachel's dads. For the entire duration of the intermission, they talked about Rachel — Quinn listening more so.

The music starts up again and a distant ache makes itself known. Gone were the high school days when Quinn can listen to Rachel sing every day of the week. If her affection for the girl who is currently dancing and singing on stage is a forest, it will be riddled with the tallest pine.

The first notes of the closing song silences the theatre into a deafening hush. Rachel, clad in a black shirt that exposes the skin of her neck, her collarbones. Elegant drop earrings against her jaw. Nothing but darkness on stage.

The song has yet to start but Quinn's eyes already brim with tears. Rachel is beautiful, she has known this since the start. It hurts to be reminded. To Rachel, Quinn is a high school memento. To Quinn, Rachel is as good as breathing.

"_Oh my man I love him so… He'll never know._"

Quinn bites back a sharp feeling in her throat. With Rachel's eyes closed, she wonders what image she has in the back of her eyelids. Rachel's brow furrows in concentration, and Quinn hesitates to know who Rachel is thinking of.

In the back of her mind, a memory. With Rachel, even though she sings so much, every song counts. Every song means something. So when Quinn asked, _are you singing that song to Finn? And only Finn?_, the rest of her questions went unspoken.

_Is there really no hope for me at all? What little chance I had, did I blow it?_

_Is there no room for me in that beautiful life of yours? _

Quinn shakes the past away and instead focuses on the now. But it hurts too much to hear Rachel sing a song from the soundtrack she has appropriated as her own — knowing how much the diva likes to model her life around fictitious tales of love and romance. If Rachel closes her eyes, sings about Nick Arnstein and sees Finn, then…

What hope is there for a girl like her?

**10:45 pm - Stage Centre, Marquis Theatre**

The spotlight flares hot on her skin. She knows she can fake it, but this song is not her favourite one in the entire musical's score. It's a beautiful song especially as performed by her heroine, her idol, but it reminds her of much simpler times. All art points to the heart, which was the case when she sang this song with Finn in mind many times before. Now, when she summons that young and foolish emotion back into herself, she barely manages it.

In the silver movie screen of her mind, she once saw Finn. But the camera tracks differently now — focuses on the background rather than the foreground.

She concentrates so she doesn't accidentally belt a different pronoun.

Like static, the image changes. In her mind's eye, a hopeful microsecond fills her with such intense longing that she hits the last note, belts it, extends it for as long as able to keep the image in the seat of her brain.

Rachel blinks back the tears that spring from the groundwater of her heart.

Why does her subconscious decide that now is the best time for enlightenment?

**10:47 pm - Inside Marquis Theatre, second row.**

Quinn wonders what she can give to catch a glimpse of the moment that Rachel sings about, and whether she is in it. Even for a second of this so-called forevermore.

**10:54 pm - Centre Stage, Marquis Theatre**

Rachel beams towards the audience and the world radiates its jealousy, its pride. Turns and bows to the starboard side. Turns and bows to port-side. And again, towards the centre. Flowers are thrown at her feet, and the standing ovation lasts for ten deafening minutes.

The curtains fall with only the backstage light to guide the cast off stage. As Rachel steps into the wings, she is embraced by everyone, from cast mates to theatre staff. Her head spins, she is delirious with joy with the rush that comes with performance. The thrill of an induced high has nothing on her right now.

Walking towards her dressing room calms the current of her nerves. Her dressing room is packed with people who love her — co-stars, Kurt, her dads, and —

"You'll never guess who came to see your opening night!" Kurt squeals.

Oh, but Rachel _can_ guess.

"Quinn," Rachel breathes and it is the first word she says as Rachel and not as Fanny.

Of course. Of _course_, it would be her name.

"Rachel," Quinn emerges from between her dads and Rachel imagines they feel the charge in the air with the way they give them space. They stand a few feet apart and no one says anything for a long time — or so it feels. "You were fantastic — not that you need me to tell you that."

"Did you like my performance?"

"Like?" Quinn asks, incredulous. "Rachel," she says again, and Rachel enjoys how it sounds in Quinn's mouth, in her teeth. "I adore you...r performance."

"That's a relief."

Rachel musters a tight, clenched sound deep in her throat and barrels into Quinn's arms. Immediately, the blonde's arms are around her like a vice, strong and tight and promising something Rachel fears to face lest she loses it. Her thick stage makeup smears the skin of Quinn's neck, and when she pulls back to apologize, she finds that she can't be free of the tight hold Quinn has on her. They are a raft in the sea of drowning. Rachel can't tell who is the one fighting to stay afloat.

**11:00 pm - Backstage, Rachel's dressing room, Marquis Theatre**

On top of the vanity, amidst piles of makeup and discarded clothing, Quinn sees the bouquet of gardenias she sent Rachel, much to her surprise. After all, she mailed them to her apartment. She had no prior knowledge of which theatre _Funny Girl _was playing until she looked it up not five hours ago.

It is hard to read the way Rachel looks at her when she sees her for the first time. Situated between Hiram and Leroy, Quinn takes a brave step towards the girl who makes her heart rampage like no other. It fills her with equal parts terror and adoration to be in the same cramped dressing room with _the_ star of her night sky.

And when Rachel collides into her arms like a meteor falling into her lowly arms, Quinn wishes she won't be allowed to let go.

But, needs must. Politeness demands that Rachel converse with other well-wishers. She invites her co-stars to her apartment for a small get-together, an afterparty of sorts — the entire show being the main party, Quinn supposes.

Rachel excuses herself to get changed, and everyone filters out of her dressing room, one by one. Before the door closes completely, Quinn glances back, and like Lot's wife, turns to a pile of salt. Or, she nearly does, anyway. She catches a glimpse of Rachel's back, the dip of her spine, the black lace of her bra as she removes her costume. Quinn chokes on air. She might as well have seen God.

The young diva reemerges, dressed in a grey cowl neck sweater, a plaid skirt, and knee-high boots. Quinn knows she underwent some kind of makeover, one that Kurt finally convinced Rachel to go through, and the results dry her throat. She clears her throat multiple times, longs for another glass of overpriced wine. That's when Quinn notices that Rachel has her arm around the bouquet of gardenias.

"Are you going to carry that around with you all night?" Quinn asks, incredulous.

Rachel shrugs. "If I must."

She then loops her arm around hers, around _Quinn's_, and it's a little bit like flying. As she discusses the logistics of the afterparty with Kurt and her dads, Quinn matches her pace, content to say nothing and relish this moment.

"You're coming to the afterparty, right?" It takes Quinn a full minute to realize that Rachel is talking to her.

As if she can say no with the way Rachel looks up at her, like she hasn't seen her in years, like this is the last time they'll see each other in a long while. For Quinn's own sanity, she hopes not. "Of course I will."

The cab ride that Rachel's dads insist on is a quiet, if stifled affair. Leroy sits in front with the cab driver, holding a conversation about the state of New York City roads while Quinn, Rachel, Kurt, and Hiram squeeze together in the back seat. Quinn murmurs a Hail Mary with Rachel practically sitting across her lap. The smaller girl clings to the oh shit handle as the cab swerves up a curb, narrowly missing a US Post box. Quinn flinches when the tires screech. Her arms fly around Rachel's waist to keep the diva stable. As a reward, she meets a faceful of gardenias.

Quinn flushes when Rachel holds on to the back of her hand as if to keep Quinn's arm around her waist. Christ Almighty, she's really in for it now.

**11:33 pm - Rachel, Kurt, and Santana's apartment**

Some of Rachel's cast members are already in the apartment when they arrive. And so is Santana. She looks worn down, having suffered an eight hour shift and missed Rachel's opening night to boot. She welcomes the booze that flowed and the pizzas piled in boxes, paid for by Rachel's cast mates. When Santana sees Rachel, she hugs her and congratulates her. When Santana sees Quinn in the mix, she smirks.

"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."

**11:36 pm - Rachel, Kurt, and Santana's apartment**

Santana hugs Quinn and pulls her away from Rachel to get her a beer.

"About time you visited," Santana tells Quinn while they sit at the dining table, eating peanuts and slices of pizza. "Have you been keeping in touch with anyone?"

Quinn admits to Santana that she hasn't had the time. Between attending classes, working, and making friends at Yale, she hasn't made contact with anyone else from McKinley, until now.

"You can at least shoot Britt a phone call. She asks about you sometimes. And don't get me started on Rachel," Santana rolls her eyes. "She talks big game about using the Metro North pass you gave her during senior year, but since she got this Broadway gig, she's been too busy." She necks the bottle and shoots Quinn a sidelong glance. "Good thing you grew some courage to make the first move."

"What about you, Santana? How are you?"

The girl sighs and rubs her forehead. "Work is work, life is life. Don't have much to say beyond that."

The night progresses and everyone gets tipsier. Quinn finds Santana gone and one of the brides from the _His Love Makes Me Beautiful_ number, the autumn bride, is talking to her, touching her arm, giggling _way_ too much at everything Quinn says. By this time, deep in the night, Hiram and Leroy has said their goodbyes and returned to their hotel.

"Thank you all for coming — I appreciate it so much," Rachel's voice breaks through the haze. Quinn is buzzed, but not drunk. Not as drunk as the autumn bride, for sure. "But — I'm trying to be polite here — everyone, please leave." At this, Quinn rises to her feet, teeters slightly. "Not you, Quinn. We need to talk."

Rachel's eyes — and everyone else's, it seems — are on her.

"Are you sure? Don't you want to rest?"

"I'm perfectly awake, thank you very much."

**12:24 am - Rachel, Kurt, and Santana's apartment, balcony**

New York summer nights. Heavy clouds hang over the skyscrapers and the redolence of rain looms in the air. The balcony of the apartment looks out into an alley, but from the cracks between the buildings, the city's lights shine. The breeze is cool, and Rachel pulls Quinn so they sit on the bench. Their legs touch.

"So."

"So."

"Saw you flirting with Evelyn tonight. Is there something there?"

"None whatsoever. How about that Nick Arnstein, huh?"

"His husband is a lucky man."

Sighs of relief expel between the two of them.

"I never took the time to thank you. For the gardenias. When I called, I know the first thing I did was — "

"Yell at me, yes." Quinn can't help the laugh that boils out of her, that evolves into a bout of laughter that shakes her shoulders. To the point that the way Quinn trembles transfer into Rachel's body. Together they laugh and it dispels further tension.

Quinn looks a little too long into the stars that are Rachel's eyes. Oh what she wouldn't give to be looked at like that for the rest of her days.

"I missed it. You yelling at me." Quinn looks off into the distance. This city that never sleeps. She wonders if she would sleep either, knowing that Rachel Berry is in her presence. "Well, not exactly the yelling part. But your voice. Hearing it. And when you sang tonight, I…" her throat closes up, like a defence mechanism. Like it's saying, _quit talking, Fabray, if you don't want to _ruin _whatever this is._ The vision of Rachel singing _My Man_ cements her resolve to keep her mouth shut. "Didn't I tell you so?"

"No one likes a smug winner, Quinn."

"At least let me gloat."

A cool breeze blows past, carrying a shiver that courses through Rachel's body. Quinn frowns. "You want to go back inside? It'll be a bad day if you get sick."

Rachel shifts in the plastic love seat and shakes her head. "I'm fine."

"Still stubborn, huh?" Quinn unzips her sweater and before she can shrug it off, Rachel climbs on top of Quinn's lap and burrows inside the jacket with her. The blonde stiffens but doesn't push Rachel away. Resigns herself to being the girl's space heater for the night. If this is the only opportunity she gets, she is willing to come off as the unrequited lover. And whatever else that comes with that title.

**12:28 am - Rachel, Kurt, and Santana's apartment, balcony**

In her mind, Rachel screams. She can't believe that it's so easy to curl into Quinn's lap like she belongs there. The easy way Quinn slings an arm around her, the weight of her chin against Rachel's shoulder.

"Those things you asked me over the phone," Quinn begins, and Rachel curses herself for luxuriating too much on her victory — which means she has lost the upper hand. "What did you mean? You mentioned knowing something all this time, and I can't, for the life of me, figure out what it could be."

Rachel twists her body so she buries her face against the humidity of Quinn's neck. "The gardenias."

**12:31 am - Rachel, Kurt, and Santana's apartment, balcony**

Again, with the gardenias.

Everything seems to revolve around those white flowers.

**12:32 am - Rachel, Kurt, and Santana's apartment, balcony**

"Do you remember junior prom?" Rachel asks. She peers into Quinn's eyes, sees her flinch. She remembers the slap. Rachel rubs the slopes of Quinn's shoulders. "I don't mean when you slapped me in the bathroom, though that's a tender moment between us that I still hold close to my heart, I must admit. No, I meant the corsage you wore that night."

"The one with the ribbon that matched my eyes," Quinn says with a small smile. When the grim expression in Rachel's features do not change, the pieces of this forsaken puzzle that she didn't realize she's trying to solve until now, falls into place.

**12:34 am - Rachel, Kurt, and Santana's apartment, balcony**

That one night she believed that Finn cared about her hinged upon a lie of omission?

How typical.

"I have this story in my head," Quinn begins. "And I want you to interrupt me to fill in the blanks of the story. Okay?" Rachel nods and Quinn looks at Rachel's features for any change, for any shift in expression. And also to drown in those brightest brown eyes. "I asked Finn, my prom date, to get me a corsage because that's typically the boy's job. And because he was hopeless, maybe because I scared him, he asked his ex-girlfriend… _what corsage should I get for Quinn?_ And you, his ex-girlfriend, told him…"

"Girls like Quinn — you don't want to do anything that's going to distract from her face," Rachel says like she is transported back to all those years ago, like she is reciting a line from a film so close to her heart. "So ask for a gardenia with a light green ribbon wrapped around it to match her eyes."

Quinn should have known.

"Right," Quinn's hold around Rachel's waist tightens by a fraction. "Was that — was that what you meant when you asked, did Finn tell me?"

Rachel is quiet. She nods.

"Do you know what gardenias mean in the language of flowers?"

**12:42 am - Rachel, Kurt, and Santana's apartment, balcony**

"I can ask you the same thing, Quinn."

Rachel's eyes transform to something soft, doe-like, to stern, hard as granite. "_You_ sent me gardenias without hiding behind a boy. You sent them in your own name. Do _you_ know what gardenias stand for?"

She watches Quinn think. Can see the churning in her brain, the cogs turning. As if weighing the answer in her tongue before she spits it out and change their lives forever.

"Of course I know what they mean."

Quinn breathes in deep, holds Rachel closer to her shivering body.

"Gardenias mean secret love."

**12:45 am - Rachel, Kurt, and Santana's apartment, balcony**

Rachel releases a shaky breath and nods. "Knowing that you know the meaning of gardenias, is it reasonable of me to think that…" she swallows, grasps the back of Quinn's neck. The blonde hasn't looked away from her since they stepped out onto the balcony. In those hazel eyes, she attempts to divine their future. "Is it reasonable for me to think that you meant its meaning towards me?"

Quinn chuckles. "I resigned myself to never speaking of these feelings, yet here we are."

"What feelings?"

The heady clouds overhead that long threatened to collapse with its own weight finally pulls through. The first drops of rain land on Quinn's cheek that for a second she wonders if she is suddenly crying — and if so, why are her tears cold? It dawns on her that no, she's not crying, at the same time Rachel realizes it's raining.

She scrambles off Quinn's lap and pulls the blonde back in the apartment. Evidence of the party litters the floor and on the couch, Santana sleeps. Kurt is nowhere to be seen.

Quinn follows Rachel — may it be around her apartment or to the ends of the earth. Smiles when the diva covers Santana's frame with a throw blanket. In Rachel's bedroom, clothes are strewn all over the place. A bra hangs over by the headboard. On the nightstand, a bouquet of red roses. Rachel must have noticed Quinn looking at them because she offers an explanation.

"They're from Finn," Rachel says, arms full with her clothing that she dumps in a nearby laundry basket.

"Do you still love him?"

"I do, but in the same way that you probably do," Rachel smoothes out her bedspread and climbs on the bed, her back to the headboard. Quinn sits across from her, by the foot of the bed. The proximity they once shared outside on the balcony, amidst the blinking lights of the city, feels inappropriate now. "He's my high school sweetheart and I'll always have a soft spot for him." The look Rachel gives Quinn feels too meaningful and she can't help but feel the gravity of the situation. "My romantic feelings for him are long gone. Besides, we don't talk much anymore. Life gets in the way, sometimes."

**1:02 am - Rachel, Kurt, and Santana's apartment, balcony**

Rachel finds that her courage went somewhere else now that she's with Quinn in her bedroom. Outside, the deafening sound of rain, tires screeching against the asphalt, the perpetual cacophony of humans, alive.

She wants to breach the topic again. But with Quinn looking at her like that — like this will be the last time. Like she's memorizing Rachel's features, her hair, her mouth, that birthmark on her cheek. The shape of her ears. The square of her shoulders. Rachel watches Quinn watch her. Sees her throat flex, like swallowing down words.

Or maybe she's projecting.

So she sidesteps the silence.

"I used to think that to love loud is the best way," Rachel begins. Her voice sounds all wrong in her ears, when she realizes she's whispering. "Having two gay dads, I learned that there's nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to loving and being loved. As you are aware, I made my love for Finn well-known at all times."

"Understatement of the century," Quinn mutters with a smile. Rachel glares at her and the blonde smiles sweetly. "Continue."

"But during our junior year, I realized some things," Rachel glances at Quinn and sees the grim line of her mouth. "To quote my favourite song from Wicked," Rachel pauses, grins, and sings, "_Something has changed within me, something is not the same_."

"I learned — through no small amount of introspection, mind you — that sometimes, keeping things secret can provide a clarity that feels unprecedented. Keeping my mouth shut gave me the opportunity to mull things over. To be sure about things. I knew what gardenias meant before Finn even asked. And I always knew that its meaning is one that I would always associate with you, Quinn."

"Rachel," Quinn lets out a strangled laugh. She scrambles off Rachel's bed and paces in what little space there is that is uncovered by clothing. "You can't be serious."

**1:17 am - Rachel's bedroom**

Quinn both admires and dreads the shift in Rachel's expression. "What do you mean I _can't_ be serious? I assure you, Quinn, that I am one hundred percent, unequivocally _serious_!"

Her voice rises like a tide and Quinn drowns in it.

"You can't possibly be saying that… that…" To say it out loud strikes fear in her own damn heart. She shakes her head, but what is she denying? "You can't be saying what I think you're saying."

"What, that I love you?"

Quinn stops pacing and Rachel rises to her feet. They're on equal footing now. No more poker faces. No more keeping her playing cards too close to her chest.

"Say it again," Quinn begs. To hear it once is blessing enough. To hear it again, and again, and again — is sheer decadence.

Rachel is holding her wrists but how come it feels like unraveling?

"I love you, Quinn. And I know it seems impossible, given how much I clung to Finn and what he meant, but I love you then and I love you now."

Her throat is a desert and her heart is a raging sandstorm. Quinn finds that when it comes to Rachel, her emotions are all storms, gale force winds, and tsunamis.

"It's so hard to believe you," Quinn says with a crooked smile. "But that might just be because I've been telling myself there's no chance you can love me back for so long."

Rachel takes a closer step. Quinn can now smell her perfume, the salt of her sweat. She looks up at her and _god_, what is there to say? The diva has Quinn's sweaty palms in her equally sweaty ones. Quinn swears she can feel the earth turn beneath her feet. The inquisitive look in Rachel's eyes begs the question.

"Rachel," Quinn breathes. "I love you."

The wind escapes Quinn's body when Rachel pushes her down on the bed and mounts her. She looks above the girl, stunned into silence, and above her, Rachel grins in triumph. She gapes at the diva, at a loss for words.

"Inasmuch as I said that having a quiet love is nice and conducive for realizations and revelations, it is still in my nature to be loud about things so please don't fault me if I climb to the roof and yell about how I love you, Quinn." Her breath singes Quinn's cheek and underneath Rachel, she squirms. Rachel smiles and bends down even further.

Rachel kisses her. How is it that something so regenerative feels so much like becoming undone?

**1:29 am - Rachel's bedroom**

Rachel supposes, when Quinn kisses her in return, that this is what Moses felt when he parted the Red Sea.

Equal parts triumph and experience of the sublime.

**1:30 am - Rachel's bedroom**

The press of Rachel's body against hers feels nothing but a distant dream. Quinn has pictured this before — imagined in the theatre of her mind's eye kissing Rachel until their lips are sore, until they touch second base. But the reality of her situation is like no other. Rachel squirms like she can't keep still. Her hot breath against Quinn's cheek sends the pit of her stomach on fire. Quinn's mind reels with thoughts she cannot decipher.

Rachel is definitely many things, Quinn thinks. The diva can be a flash flood, a thunderstorm, a hurricane, a typhoon, but one thing she is not is a drought. She can be the calm before the storm, as evidenced by the tender kiss she places on Quinn's cheek, or a thunderbolt that shoots straight to the heart when her tongue grazes Quinn's lip, and it is what's so great about her.

Quinn blinks back a tear that blurs her vision. "I thought about this so many times," she murmurs.

"What, me on top of you?" Rachel asks, grinning.

"Kissing you," Quinn strokes the skin of Rachel's cheek. "Being with you. Taking you. Under you. Over you. Everything about you."

"Is it everything you ever dreamed of?" Quinn rolls her eyes, knows this girl is just fishing for compliments at this point.

"No, it's worse." Rachel gasps. "Just kidding. Obviously."

"It's nice to see that your sense of humour wasn't completely taken over by a romantic."

"You're romantic enough for the both of us."

"Don't be ridiculous. The world needs more romance."

"Rachel, do I have to woo you, or will you be my girlfriend?"

"I won't say no to some wooing, but yes, I will gladly be your girlfriend." Rachel slides of Quinn's body and the loss of her heat sends a cold shiver up her body.

"Where are you going?"

**1:42 am - Rachel's bedroom**

Rachel sticks her head out of her bedroom window. Yells, "Quinn Fabray is my girlfriend!"

Outside, whoops and jeers. A drunken '_good for ya!_' echoes down the street.

She looks back at Quinn who is watching her in horror. "What the hell was that about?"

"Better than being Facebook official!" Rachel hops back in bed and plants a wet kiss on Quinn's parted mouth. "You want to get ready for bed?" Rachel asks with an innocent tone, and it works in the way she intends. Quinn's ears turn a bright red, she sputters out an excuse.

"I don't have a change of clothes. Or a toothbrush. O-or… Maybe I should sleep on the couch."

"Santana's sleeping there."

"Not anymore I'm not," the girl walks past, grumbling. Her hair a thick mess on top of her head. "Thanks to your caterwauling out there. Congrats, Fabray." She shoots the blonde a smirk before disappearing into her own bedroom. When Quinn looks at Rachel, there's that play-acting of innocence that sends her blood boiling.

"I'm only teasing you," Rachel giggles. She strokes Quinn's cheek with a tenderness that makes her knees buckle. "If you're more comfortable on the couch, then be my guest."

"I'm not… No, I'll be more comfortable here, I think."

Rachel smiles over her shoulder, their fingers lightly connected. "I knew you'd see things my way."

The diva uses the bathroom first before she shows Quinn the bathroom and gives her a new toothbrush she can use. After Quinn washes her face, Rachel is standing in the hallway. "I have some clothes you can use."

"Thanks," Quinn smiles and returns to the bathroom to change into the loose boxer shorts and shirt Rachel provides. She turns off the hallway lights, makes sure that the main door is locked before entering Rachel's bedroom. The door clicks shut behind her. Rachel turns off the light, but the street lamps right outside her window usher in enough light into her bedroom. Quinn settles into bed beside Rachel. Their heads rest on the same pillow. The warm mint of their breaths mingle in what small space that separates them.

Quinn has no idea who fell asleep first. All she knows is that the lingering feeling of Rachel's mouth on her is a sedative. She's in bed with the girl she loves — who loves her back, might she add. What else is there?

**Two weeks later - backstage, Marquis Theatre**

The high from another show never fails to run through Rachel's veins. She's been Fanny for more than ten shows now and it has yet to get old, yet to grow stale. After the resounding standing ovation, she returns to her dressing room, now cleared of flowers and presents from opening night two weeks ago.

Except for a new bouquet of gardenias sitting on her vanity.

"Surprise," she hears a low voice. She spins, doesn't bother to check who it is. Instead, she just leaps into Quinn's arms. The blonde laughs and catches her. Rachel rises to the tips of her toes, her left leg kicking back behind her to kiss her girlfriend.

**Backstage, Marquis Theatre**

"Our love's not so secret now. Why gardenias, still?" Rachel comments as she changes into her street clothes. From the mirror of the vanity, she sees Quinn admiring her back, sees her reach out to touch but Rachel turns at the right moment so Quinn's finger touches her breast. The blonde licks her lips and pins Rachel against the surface of the vanity. Makeup scatters to the floor.

"I like to think it's _our_ flower," Quinn speaks into Rachel's neck. "And for us, it doesn't _just_ mean secret love anymore."

Rachel's fingers thread through blonde locks. Her nails scrape against the nape of Quinn's neck. "Oh?"

"For us it also means finally."

* * *

Writing this fic also pushed me to finally (!) get my Faberry tattoo. A gardenia. No surprises there.


End file.
